I Know Well
by xReaderx
Summary: He's all that she has left. Rated lower M- It was almost rated T, but I decided to play it safe. SylarxClaire.


She couldn't say she'd avoided submission. She had, in all senses, surpassed it.

A hundred years of watching your family die does that to you.

She still hated him. She hated his eyes, his hair, those ridiculous eyebrows; his perfectly sculpted chin and lean body. It was unblemished and menacing and solid (not a fading ghost), and she hated him for it.

She thought maybe…just maybe…in some other world she could forgive herself—stop throwing herself in front of buses and off of buildings.

But, seeing as how this was the hand she had been dealt, she surrendered. She couldn't take any other inch of numbness. She needed misery; she craved it.

He fixed that in a cinch.

--

_Child the Lord won't mind_

--

Another night. Another hotel room.

Insatiable habits die hard—unlike everything else in the God damn world.

After the first time, she cried in his arms. He stiffened and as soon as he thought she was unconscious slipped out into the ambience of streetlights.

After the second time, she cried again, but he held her and whispered that this was their destiny, that some force in the universe knew they would end up in that exact moment, her falling to pieces and him ready with the glue.

After the third time, she linked eyes with him asking one simple, paradoxical question.

"I'm going to hell, aren't I?"

He chuckled like he always did. "Save you a seat."

And soon, she stopped caring. It became an act of defiance, revenge.

_Leave me immortal while the rest of the world wastes around me? We'll see about that!_

He was the only living proof she had that once, she was born; once, she grew; once, she had a dysfunctional family; once, she was a cheerleader. Clinging to him seemed to be the only instinct she could rely on anymore.

Everything else was fallible. He wasn't.

--

_God, it's good the lovin'; ain't it good tonight?_

--

Sweat and twisted sheets. Panting. His skin on hers.

It was so carnal. So blissful. So wrong.

"More," was her only answer to her conscious as he thrust his way into her. "I need…more…"

He grunted, delirious from her elicited cries. She could swear it was a high for him, just to hear her begging. She could relate; her skin exploded in heat every second he pleaded for her body.

"Make me feel..." Her unhindered voice ordered. "Damn it, I need to feel!"

"Claaairree…" he purred into her ear, receiving a buck of her hips that made him swear.

He lost his rhythm, throwing them both into searing white infinity.

He collapsed next to her, his breath haggard.

"I want you to live with me."

She immediately declined his request.

Too bad the request was just his politeness cracking the surface. Apparently there was no option.

He dragged her jellified body atop his, coaxing her in for another sin.

Temptation gave way as she rode him into ecstasy.

She couldn't run away.

It was too dark to see.

--

_It's just you and me; child, you're a beauty._

--

He treated her kindly enough. He didn't hurt her, though she often anticipated she shoved him in that direction, and he didn't force her to do anything shameful besides sleep in the same bed, which she didn't mind; she hated lonely nights.

However, one midnight hour, he awoke with a start, sending her jolting straight up.

The sight shocked her: sweat beaded his forehead, his hair mussed, hands pressed to his temples in agony.

"Sylar…" She reached out to touch his shoulder.

His snakelike hand struck her wrist before she had a chance, the look of a killer in his eyes.

"He's dead," he croaked.

Her brows furrowed. "Who's dead?"

"They killed him!" he bellowed, tears streaking down his cheeks. "_You_ killed him!"

His grip on her wrist tightened to the point of snapping. She winced not from the pain but what it implied.

"Who, Sy…Gabriel, who did I kill?" she whispered like a bird's silent soaring wing. Her free hand stroked his cheek before he had the chance to stop her. "Who?"

"My son!" he screamed, throwing her appendage down and taking her face in his hands. "_Your_ son!"

She didn't reply for hours as he sat next to her, shuddering and quaking and fermenting in his anger. It took no time to figure out what he was poking at—that they somehow had a son together—but she couldn't decipher why the hell he died. It disturbed her, too, that the concept of having his child didn't perturb her at all; only the idea that she killed him made her throat go dry.

Somehow in all the turmoil and confusion, his lips found hers with bruising force.

Her nightgown slipped off.

For the first time in years, Claire was afraid she would die.

--

_There's a part I can't tell about the dark I know well._

_--_

She tried to run; he became damn well determined to make her suffer for an act she hadn't yet committed.

Unfortunately, it was enough to make her pregnant with the very thing that started his violent rampage.

She thought she could stand him, care for him even. Love him? No. That would take another few centuries, though she couldn't deny she was capable of it.

Until that night happened, when he ripped his way inside her and made her bleed.

Made it hurt.

He muffled her screams with kisses and pressed down on her kicking legs.

She couldn't even fight him.

It didn't change. It just got worse.

She did things she'd never done to a man before. She was twisted and torn like his perverted sex toy that wouldn't break. God, she wished she would.

Break. Exhale. And Die.

Until little Noah grew inside of her.

She ran despite knowing he would find her when the time was necessary.

She hated him.

She wanted to protect Noah from the monster.

To her disadvantage, he was an expert at camouflage.

It was a week after Noah was born. She walked back into the makeshift nursery to find him holding the baby like a precious artifact he was afraid might shatter.

He was crying. Like a big baby himself.

He didn't seem to notice her until he barely breathed two words she'd been waiting to hear for a century.

"I'm sorry."

She didn't need to ask what it was for.

Anything. Everything.

Though she feared for herself, she bravely and maternally slid her hands under his arms, propping the infant up.

"Here…hold him like this."

She felt those brown orbs on her face, but she was too terrified to chance eye contact.

What if the second he set the child down, it would return to the way it was?

What if he made it hurt again?

Her muscles tensed as he returned the baby to his blue décor cradle as though he had read all the father-to-be books. Neither spoke as he wordlessly stood above her before intertwining his fingers in hers and giving gentle pulls towards her own bedroom next to the nursery.

She gulped, complying only because of the thought that Noah might have been lost in their crossfire.

But…what happened…wasn't what she expected.

He apologized. And kissed her.

Removed her clothes. And his own.

He made her stand in front of the mirror while he lingered behind, his hands gliding along the skin of her arms.

"No scars…You can't even see what I've done to you," he murmured, his voice lilting with something she wasn't familiar with.

"Claire…"

Tears slid down her cheeks; her lips trembled.

"You're so beautiful…"

She released a breath that shook with vibration.

His let his hands fall away.

"I don't deserve either of you."

He turned away and sat on the edge bed; she dared not move.

It was stranger than the night he dreamt of his son's death. She watched his disheveled and un-gelled raven hair, his hunched over naked form with his hands covering his face all in the mirror. His tremulous body couldn't keep still in the pale moonlight.

Never had he been so vulnerable. So nude.

Her heart yearned to touch him; she knew how completely fucked up that was.

Her father had explained the cycle before: a young girl is kidnapped by an older man…her brain is warped as he feeds her lies…she's led to believe the little world he's created is right and just and she is exactly where she belongs. He brainwashes her.

She tried telling herself this didn't apply. She told the ghost of her father to shut up.

But, he wouldn't. Because he was right.

Her knees buckled under her, and she fell to kneel on the floor.

He quietly observed her bare back, remembering its perfect contours like they were his own hands.

"Why did you hurt me?" she breathed.

She didn't hear him rise and fall behind her until his breath was on her neck.

"I was afraid…"

She shook her head. "But now _I_ am."

His lips brushed her shoulder in the tenderest way, she thought she imagined it.

"I swear…I'll never hurt you again…"

She sobbed.

"I can't escape you."

He didn't answer.

"I don't want to."

She twirled her body and without warning was on top of him in a furious frenzy.

But, he slowed it down.

Slowed the pace.

Let her see what it could be like.

"I love you, Claire."

--

_I lie there and breathe, lie there and breathe. _

_--_

She was happy.

On the outside. She was a ray of glorious blonde sunshine.

She was a wife and mother. She cooked healthy vegetarian lasagnas as her little boy walked in the front door from kindergarten and her husband swooped in with stories about how the office was killer. She read bedtime stories and made love in the shower. She attended dinner parties and bought cookie dough from the neighbor kids.

She was her mother.

Just much more damaged.

When he fell asleep at night, she would get dressed and run.

Run like hell. For miles and miles.

Sprint. Jog. Sprint.

Cross the state border. Turn around. Go back.

Slip back into bed.

He never knew. Or he did and allowed her one small freedom.

Which seemed unlikely.

Until he asked her as she was stuffing her feet into her running shoes, "You think you'll make it across Nevada tonight?"

He must have heard her heart stop. Anyone could have.

"Maybe."

He nodded, though she didn't turn to look at him.

"Let me know when you outrun it."

Her brow furrowed.

"Outrun what?"

There was no hesitation in his answer. "This life. Let me know when you've beat it."

She didn't reply as she shoved the door open and her feet hit the concrete.

They argued as soon as Noah left for school the next day.

"Claire…I don't know how to make you happy."

Her placid and even voice would fool anyone but him.

"Maybe you can't."

He actually looked hurt. "Claire…I lov-"

Her hand in the air stopped him.

"Please…" she whispered. "I can't handle that right now."

His eyes narrowed. "And why the hell not?"

She shook her head. "Doesn't matter."

His nostrils flared.

"You don't love me."

Her silence said more than her words ever could.

His palm slammed against her cheek. She didn't feel its sting, though it still made her eyes water.

"God damn it, Claire!"

Another palm.

Then a fist.

But, he never left a single scar on her.

Not one.

--

_I want the world to find out that you're dreaming on me, me and my beauty_

_--_

Noah's death on his 77th birthday wasn't a surprise to anyone.

He had grown delirious, tired, and old.

Old.

He lived a long life by most standards. Too bad he couldn't live forever.

They had gotten 'divorced' when he was in his thirties.

Remarried in his fifties.

And temporarily separated by the month his funeral came around.

She knew her son would wither and die. She knew her husband would keep hurting her until the end of time.

She knew, and she still held them closer than she had ever let anyone in her heart.

And ever would again.

His hand held hers as she stared at the headstone: _Husband, Father, Son. _

What was his special ability?

He didn't need one.

She sobbed into his chest, and he cooed to her softly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

She hit his heart with a fist.

The only movement she ever made to fight back.

"I love you," she replied.

She did. Truly.

But, God…

God.

* * *

_I don't scream though I know it's wrong  
I just play along  
I lie there and breath, lie there and breathe  
I want to be strong I want the world to find out that you're dreaming on me  
Me and my beauty, me and my beauty_

_You say all you want is just a kiss goodnight  
And then you hold me and you whisper, "Child, the Lord won't mind.  
It's just you and me; child, you're a beauty."_

_God, it's good the lovin'; ain't it good tonight?  
You ain't seen nothin' yet, gonna treat you right  
It's just you and me; child, you're a beauty_

_There's a part I can't tell about the dark I know well_

_

* * *

_

**Author junk: So apparently all I can do is write Sylaire one shots...? I am pathetic. Yes, this song is from Spring Awakening. I put the lyrics in at random and in no particular order. Hope you liked it. Feedback is appreciated!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes or the song "The Dark I Know Well" from Spring Awakening. **


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